


The Tiger

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are getting tight around Taste and Illya is worried about keeping his doors open.  How is Chef going to react when Napoleon tells him that they are funding an artist's vision?  And why is Rocky acting more like Balboa and less like the ABBA-loving guy he is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tiger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reapermum](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Reapermum).



The bell above the door rang cheerily and Napoleon glanced over in its direction.  They had a few people in the shop, but it was still early.  By the afternoon it would be packed as people stopped in on their way home to pick up a bottle.  Recession was good for winemakers. Then Napoleon recognized the delivery uniform and he smiled.  “Mau I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Jake.  This is my first day and I’m a little confused.  I see the drop off spot for the restaurant, but not here.”

“It’s one and the same.  You look hot.”

“I’m not used to the heat up here.”

“They say it’s a dry heat, but hot is hot.  Come on over and sit down.  What would you like to drink?”

Jake looked around and shook his head. “I’d better not.  The owner might not like my sitting down on the job.  You said the drop off is over there?”  He hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

Napoleon gestured for the young man to sit at a small table.  “I’m Napoleon Solo.”  He offered his hand and received a firm handshake in return.  “Vinea is my baby.  I would much rather have you hydrated and in no danger of collapse than have a few cases of wine delivered.  We are a bit more laid back up here.”

“But my truck is blocking the parking lot.  What about the other guy?”

The other guy is my partner.  It’s not a problem.  Taste doesn’t open for hours.”

“I’ve heard a lot about it.”  The voice was wistful as Jake sat.

“But you haven’t visited?”  Napoleon looked him up and down and reached for a sparkling ginger beer.  He popped the top and poured it into a frosted glass.  “Drink up.”

Jake took a large gulp.  Then his eyes grew large and he gasped for breath.

“Sorry, I should have warned you.”

“It’s okay.”  Jake’s voice was a whisper.  “It’s peppy.”

“And non-alcoholic.  I haven’t seen you before.  So you haven’t been to Taste yet?”

“New to the area and my girlfriend would love it.  But to be honest, it’s a little out of my...”  Jake’s voice trailed off.  Napoleon followed his gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

Jake gave Napoleon a shaky smile and point to a sculpture in the corner.  Its lines were fluid, yet at the same time sharp and distinct.  It sat on a pedestal with the month’s special stacked around it.  “Where did you get that?”

“Incredible, isn’t it?”  Napoleon smiled proudly.  “We were doing a tasting in Sacramento and stopped at a street craft show.  They had this at one of the booths.”  His eyes half closed at the memory.  He’d loved the piece the moment he saw it.  “I bought it and several other pieces by the same sculptor.  He’s incredible.”

“He’s me.”

“What?”  Napoleon grinned, his eyes wide with excitement.  “Talk about serendipity!  I’ve been trying to track you down for months.”

“I… move around a lot,” Jake paused and shrugged his shoulders.  “If you know what I mean.”

“If you are like most artists I’ve known in my life, you live pretty much hand to mouth.”

  “The hand doesn’t always get to the mouth.”

“But what are you doing here?  Why are you delivering cargo?  You should be sculpting, not threatening your hands with an on-the-job injury.” 

“I love art, but the pay sucks.  That means--”

“I know what it means.  I’m old, but I have ears.”

“My friends and family, they are supportive and do what they can, but I can’t and I won’t sponge off them…”  Jake stopped and laughed.  “Are you sure this is non-alcoholic.”

Napoleon raised his hand in a Boy Scout salute.  “You have my word.”

“It’s just… I don’t usually… you are really easy to talk to.”

“It’s my gift and my curse.”  Napoleon emptied the bottle into the glass.  “I used to run the bar next door, but I cost my partner too much money.  Everyone wanted to talk, but not drink.”

Jake looked around.  “This is nice.”

“Yes, it is.”  Napoleon felt a surge of pride run through him.  He loved Vinea.  He hadn’t understood until he stepped through the doors that first day.  Surely this was how Illya felt about Taste.  It went beyond pride in ownership.  This was him.

“I’m glad you like the piece.”

“Like it?  I must get daily comments.  I even had one person try to buy it outright.  I won’t tell you how much money I turned down.”

“I should have the chance.”  Jake drained his glass and sighed, then suppressed a belch.  “That hit the spot.”  He stood to leave.  “Thank you… not just for the drink.”  He nodded to the sculpture.  “I’m glad it has a home with someone who loves it.”

“I do.”  Napoleon stood as well.  “What have you done recently?”

“Recently?  You have it.  I’ve been trying to scrape together enough money to do a _maquette_ , but the landlord and the nice people at the bank have funny ideas about me paying them on time.”  He smiled.  “One of these days, though.”

Napoleon pointed to the table.  “That day is now.  Talk to me.”

 

                                                                                ****

 

Illya ran a hand through his hair and resisted tearing out a handful.  Not only would it hurt like hell, it would solve nothing.

He could hear laughter from the kitchen and it clutched at his heart.  He didn’t want to lay anyone off.  The recession was killing him.  Even with the restaurant being full nearly every night, they just weren’t making enough.  He could compromise on quality, but that wasn’t going to happen.  He knew he and Napoleon had money saved, but Illya was loathed to dip into it.  There was no telling how long this was going to last.

“Hey, boss man.” Henry poked his head in.  “There’s a truck pulling up.”

“Thanks, Henry.”   That would be the produce delivery.  Illya handed Henry an envelope.  “Give that to Tom, will you?”

“Sure thing!”  Whistling, Henry left, not knowing what he’d escaped from. 

 After the man had left, Illya dialed a number.

“Vinea, this is Hannah.”

“Hanna, this is Chef.  May I speak with Napoleon, please?”

“Of course.”  There was a muffled conversation.

“Were your ears burning?  I was just talking about you.”

“My stomach is.  Listen, I need to talk to you… badly”

“Okay.  I’m just about through here.”

“Now, Napoleon.”

Within a matter of a few minutes, Napoleon was walking through the office door.  One look at Illya’s face was enough to make him close and lock the door behind him.  “What’s wrong?  You sounded as if someone just handed you a death sentence.”  Then he looked down at the open books.  “How bad?”

“Really bad.  It’s as if we are bleeding money.  If I raise our prices, I’ll lose business.  If I don’t cut costs somewhere and soon, I’m going to have to close the doors.”

“Let me cash out one of the bonds.”

“That will help in the short term, but we’ll chew through that money in a couple of months.”

“Then in a couple of months, we will deal with it.”  Napoleon settled into a hardback chair.  “We will ride it out. The recession can’t last forever.”

“Can’t it?”  Illya wasn’t in the mood to be chastised.  “It’s been tight before, but never like this.”

“Let me help.  After all, it’s both our money.”

“I just don’t--”

“Like to take it.”  Napoleon opened the closest book so that he could scan it.    He took out his glasses and began to follow down a row of figures.  “You haven’t been taking a salary?  I thought we discussed this before.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Illya, you have as much right to make a living with this restaurant as anyone else, probably more so.  You are giving to the community and you are giving to your employees.  The only one you don’t seem to be taking care of is you.”

“I thought that was your job.”

“Exactly, which is why I want you to start drawing a salary again.  When did you change bookkeepers?” 

“I haven’t.”  Illya looked to where Napoleon pointed.  “That’s Duncan’s son.  He came on a few months ago.”

“I think you should get someone else.  And have these books audited.”  At Illya’s frown, Napoleon permitted himself a small chuckle.  You do remember what kind of work we used to be in, don’t you?”

“Of course, but I--”

“Just because his father was a good decent man, Illya, there is no guarantee that the son follows the same path.”  Napoleon closed the book.  “Based upon what you’ve told me, I would send these to an outside auditor, just to be sure.  I know times are tough, but Taste is full nearly every night.  Your numbers shouldn’t be this low.  In the meantime, tell your bookkeeper that you need to cut costs and will be releasing him from your employ.”

“But, Napoleon…”

Napoleon studied Illya for a moment, then reached for the phone.  He dialed a number and waited.  “Hello, this is Napoleon Solo, co-owner of Taste and Vinea.  May I speak with Marcus, please?”

“Napoleon!”  Illya reached for the phone, but Napoleon eluded him.

“Hi, Marcus.  It really is hot, isn’t it?  First the economy and then the weather.  It’s too bad they couldn’t exchange places.    Listen, Marcus, I hate to do this, but because of the economic times, we are going to have to start doing our own books again.  I’m sorry, but as soon as we get our feet under us, we’ll be back.  Really?  That’s very interesting.  Thanks for being so understanding.  Bye.”

Napoleon hung up the phone and caught Illya glare head on.  “What the hell gives you the right to make decisions for me?”

“Before you say something we will both regret and one of us has to sleep on the couch, you might like to know you are the fourth account turned over to the son that has had to cancel for lack of funds.  I smell a rat, Kuryakin.”

“Not in my restaurant, you don’t.”  Illya was still smarting.

“Our restaurant.”  Napoleon stood and brushed the wrinkles from his clothes.  “We are partners.  You are a brilliant chef and a humanitarian, but you have lousy business sense.  Trust me, Illya.  You used to trust me with your life.  Now trust me with your money.  I won’t steer you wrong.  If there is nothing wrong with those books, then we will go back to Marcus.  If there is, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”  Without another word, Napoleon rose and walked from the office.

“At least my day can’t get any worse.”

 

                                                                                ****

 

Napoleon chided himself as he walked back to Vinea.  The delivery truck was gone, but Jake and his girlfriend were to return this weekend to dine at Taste as Napoleon’s guests.  Before then, Napoleon would have to find a way to tell Illya that they were going to be financing a young man’s dream, not an easy thing when all Illya could see was money trickling through his fingers.

The thing was that Napoleon had a feeling about this young man.  He’d learned long ago to trust his feelings.  That was why when everyone was dumping money into high yield junk bonds, he chose to keep his in a lower yield, insured bonds.  He missed out making millions, but then when the bottom fell out, he saved that much by having his money securely invested.  He would speculate, but then pull back, often before a stock peaked, but always before it tumbled.   

They had enough money to make it through this down period, Napoleon knew that.  He still wasn’t sure if Illya realized just how much money they did have.  They lived fairly simply, although Napoleon was amassing quite a wine cellar.  Of course, it was to the benefit of both Taste and Vinea, so Illya didn’t complain any more than Napoleon complained about their grocery bill. 

Napoleon remembered being a young man and desperately wanting to be somewhere, anywhere rather than where he was.  His rescue had come at the hands of Aunt Amy.  For his 17th birthday, she had handed him a check for a considerable amount of money.  She advised him to invest it for a year and then do something with the return.  He went to Paris and he also learned a lesson about the power of money.  When you had it, you had power. 

However, Napoleon learned early on that that type of power sometimes led men down a dark path.  While he liked the advantage that came with money, he didn’t much care for the garbage.  UNCLE had provided him with the opportunity to travel the world, wine and dine at some of the best restaurants countries had to offer and, in return, he just had to be willing to die for it.

Napoleon grinned at the thought.  Most of his memories of UNCLE were vague, although Illya was able to fill many of the gaps.  Unlike Napoleon, Illya hadn’t been deprogrammed when he left.  His memories, both good and bad, were intact.  Napoleon felt he had gotten the better part of that bargain, especially on the night when Illya’s dreams took a dark turn.

Napoleon found himself wondering if that was what drove Illya so hard, so that when he slept, he didn’t dream.  He’d never confess it to Napoleon, of course, the man being as he was.

“How are we doing here?” he asked, entering the shop.  The nearest assistant, Hannah, was uncorking an old vine zinfandel so it could breath.

“We are doing okay.”  The cork came out with a pop and she twisted it off the screw with a practiced move and passed it to Napoleon.

He sniffed, then frowned at the sediment clinging to the cork.  “Make sure you strain that when you decant it.”  He took the glass she offered him and held the wine up to the light.  It made the world a dance spectacle of reds and oranges.  He sniffed, sipped and then drew air into his mouth, aerating the wine.  Then he swallowed.  “That is going to be perfect.  That wine will make a wine drinker out of anyone.”

There was a tap on the rear door and Matt entered, obviously looking for him.  Immediately, Napoleon was struck by the man’s demeanor and went to him.

“Matt, how are you today?”

“ _Bene, grazie_.”

“You don’t look fine,” Napoleon murmured, softly.  “If you want to look fine, let me give you some pointers.”  He took the younger man’s elbow and steered him into Vinea’s office.  “Talk to me, Matt.  What is wrong?”

“It’s Rocky.  The _magia_ is gone.”

“The magic is gone?  What makes you say that?”

“Well, yesterday…”

 

                                                                                ****

 

“Chef, there’s a complaint from Table Twelve.”

Those words always struck fear into Illya’s heart, but he couldn’t let the rest of the kitchen staff see that.  He set his jaw and changed into a clean jacket and penne while mentally running the ticket for twelve.  They’d ordered the Wellington for two, medium rare, with root vegetables and a sour cream and dill potato tart.  They’d had the Oysters starter and a garden salad.  He’d seen everything go out and it had looked fine.

Illya walked out of the kitchen and into the dining room.  It was always a moment he cherished but also detested.  He enjoyed the process of cooking, loved creating with food, but he disliked the social part of it.  That was more Matt’s calling.

Illya hesitated for a moment and frowned.  Matt was acting very… subdued tonight, not Matt like at all.  What could have put the man into such an introspective mood?  He hadn’t had time to pursue it.  They had opened full and spent much of the night that way.  That bothered Illya.  They weren’t lacking for customers.  Where were all their profits going?

He pondered that thought as he made his way to Table Twelve.  The man looked furious, the woman embarrassed and the table a mess.  The man’s plate was covered with… catsup?

Illya didn’t even introduce himself.  “What on earth?”

“That’s what I want you to explain to me!” the man snarled.  “I made a simple request and that… that moron did this!”

“Who did this?”  Illya was looking around for the table captain, but all the waiters had mysteriously vanished.  “What is going on?”

“He was named after the boxing guy.”  The woman’s voice was nearly impossible to hear.  “Um… Rocky?”

“Rocky did this?”

“Yes, and I want to know what you are going to do about it.”

In the end, Illya offered to replace the meal and comp them for a future visit with anyone other than Rocky as a server.  The plate was whisked away, fresh drinks were ordered and Illya headed back to the kitchen.  He paused at the front podium.

“Roxanne, when you see Rocky, send him to me.”

“Yes, Chef.”

Illya could tell she didn’t like the request, but she would oblige.  Hopefully Rocky would do the same.

 

                                                                                ****

 

Napoleon stretched his arms over his head and winced at a pull in his neck.    He’d been working on their books and couldn’t make heads or tails from them.  They were taking in much more money than they were showing as profit.  Certainly their bottom line had jumped, due to the cost of supplies, but nothing out of the ordinary.  He had a feeling that Marcus’s son, John, was taking them to the cleaners, but it was going to take more digging than he had time for tonight.

Glancing at the mantle clock, he reckoned that Taste was starting to wind down.  Now would be a good time to drop in for a drink and maybe a little snack before bed.  He closed up the books, slid them into the bottom drawer and, as an afterthought, locked the desk.  He was being paranoid, but he remembered that it was a feeling that had served him well in the past.

Pocketing the key, he stood and locked the front door.  He adjusted the shades and then left by the kitchen door.  Unless someone was very familiar with the buildings, no one would know that he’d ever left the house.

Napoleon walked quickly, keeping to the shadows and was about to slip into the kitchen when he heard a noise.  He froze and listened.  Someone was back by the trash dumpsters, thumping on them with a hand and fuming.  Napoleon couldn’t make out what was being said, but there was something familiar about the figure.

“Stupid jerk people!”

Napoleon paused and asked softly.  “Rocky?”

“What of it?  You wanna fight me?  You wanna piece of me?”

The sheer irony struck Napoleon.  Rocky was about the most nonviolent person he knew.  Not that long ago, they had taken care of a bunch of guys who’d beaten him up.  As far as Napoleon knew, Rocky had never lifted a hand against anyone.

“No, but I want you to calm down.”  Napoleon approached the waiter.  His outfit was disheveled and his hair was awry.  Rocky was one of the neatest, most put together men Napoleon had ever met.  He sometime even put Napoleon to shame.  “What is going on, Rocky?”

“That stupid movie.  I hate that stupid movie!”

It took Napoleon a minute to figure out what Rocky was talking about.  “Okay, I’m going to go get Chef.  Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m fine.  I’m freaking fine.  Why wouldn’t I be fine?”  Rocky kicked a cardboard box again and again.

Backing away, Napoleon headed for the kitchen door.  He opened it and stuck his head inside.  “I need some help out here.”

Immediately, Illya was there.  “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Rocky—“

“You found him?”  Matt was right beside Illya, his face stressed and lined with worry.

“He’s out here and I think he is having his own version of a nervous breakdown.”

“He’ll have much more when I’m through with him.”  Illya started out, but Napoleon placed a hand in the center of his chest and let Matt move forward. 

“Stay here, Illya.  You aren’t the man for this job.”

In the low light, he could see Matt approaching Rocky slowly, but couldn’t hear what was being said.  Suddenly Rocky was in Matt’s arms and the redhead was hugging and rocking him.

“Finally,” Illya murmured, turning to go back into the kitchen.  Napoleon followed, casting one last look over his shoulder.  “Maybe now we can get something done.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Matt has been mentally absent all night and Rocky took offense to a customer asking for catsup, so he dumped an entire container over the man’s meal.”

“It will be funnier tomorrow.”

Illya turned blood-shot eyes to his partner.  “I doubt it.  Did you need something, Napoleon?”

“No, just came over to visit my favorite bartenders and see if I could sweeten the mood of a certain chef.”

“Yes, please.”  He didn’t know who it came from, but it didn’t matter.   Napoleon managed to keep from laughing.

“Why don’t you join me when you can?”  Illya’s answer was a half-vacant nod and Napoleon showed himself out of the kitchen and to his favorite bar stool.  He’d had enough excitement for one night.

                                                                                *****

 

Illya led the way back home.  He loved this time of night.  Jackson was quiet, the tourists tucked into their rented beds, the locals in and settling down for the evening.  It was usually just him, the crickets and an occasional bird.  Tonight Napoleon was making the walk back with him.  It wasn’t so very long ago that Illya had dragged Napoleon from the restaurant to the house and firmly re-established their love affair.  As they stepped into the covered patio just outside the kitchen, Napoleon caught his arm.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

“I was thinking of a time not that long ago when it was just me making this walk and wondering if this was all that was left to my life.”

Napoleon stepped very close and Illya tilted his head up, just slightly mind you, to capture Napoleon’s lips.  He could taste the scotch and something sweet.  He would guess the banana caramel mousse cake, if he knew his partner.

Napoleon’s hands were on Illya’s hips, fingers curling in as they kissed.  Illya pressed back, trapping Napoleon against the wall.  He ground his pelvis into Napoleon’s even as his fingers were searching for Napoleon’s fly.

“Are you sure…?”  Napoleon’s voice trailed off as Illya’s fingers drew Napoleon’s very eager penis from the confines of his pants.

“Try not to wake the neighbors.”  Illya dropped to his knees and attacked with a fervor that made Napoleon gasp.  He could tell his lover was close when suddenly Napoleon pushed him away.

“Stop, I want to do this properly.”  There was a trembling to Napoleon’s voice that made Illya smile.

“I wasn’t?  You didn’t seem to mind.”  Illya’s hand replaced his mouth and he stroked then squeezed Napoleon’s penis.  “And what if I don’t want to stop?

“Damnit, Illya!  Please?”  Napoleon wiggled away and managed to get himself tucked back away.  “Bed, now.”

“I won’t argue with that.”  Illya unlocked the kitchen door and stepped through.  Napoleon followed a few seconds later, obviously trying to get himself into a calmed stage.  Illya pushed through to the living room and came to a stop.  “Napoleon?”

“Yes, Illya?”

“Why did you leave the front door open?”

Napoleon came through the swinging door, carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses.  “I didn’t… the desk!”

“What about it?”  Illya looked and realized what Napoleon meant.  It looked similar to the way it had B.N., before Napoleon.  The top was scattered with papers and other objects, the drawers were partially pulled out and the area around it was a general mess.  Napoleon had set about to tidy it up and make it a usable work space as opposed to a dumping ground.

“The books!”  Napoleon set the wine and glasses down on the couch and went to the desk.  “They’re gone.”

“Why would anyone steal our books?”  Illya went to the front door.  “Anyone out here who wants to come in?”  He clicked his tongue and a moment later a small brown tabby cat raced in, closely followed by a large orange one.  “I didn’t think you two would like being shut out all night.”  He shut and locked the door again.  “Like it did so much good the first time.  Remind me to get a better lock for this.”

“You don’t seem very worried.” Napoleon was watching Illya closely, who shrugged his shoulders.  

“It’s a small town.  There is nothing I put in those books that was illegal or remarkable.  There can only be one reason why anyone would take them.”

“You are starting to think like me.”

“Sadly, yes.  I hate to suspect John, but what you were saying finally sunk in.  Some spy.”

“Ex-spy.  Besides, his father had been your accountant for years.  You were comfortable with him and I suspect the theft at first was very small.  As is often the case, it becomes more of a game to see how much you can get away with… or else he’s in serious trouble and he’s cooking books to cover his own debts.”  Napoleon picked up the wine and glasses again.  “We can clean that mess up in the morning.”

Illya followed as Napoleon headed up the narrow staircase.  “You’re thinking of Reno?”  The gambling Mecca was just few hours by car.

“Or the card rooms down in Sacramento.  Gambling is a devil once it gets a hold on you.”

“That’s why I’ve never gambled with anything I value.”  Illya pulled off his chef’s coat as he walked.  “I’ve always tried to make sound investments.  No risk taking.”

“None?” Napoleon asked over his shoulder

“Never.”

“And yet you opened a restaurant in a small Sierra town with a population that was barely that of the apartment complex you used to live in in New York.”

“That wasn’t a risk.  At the time, this was the best I could do.  If it hadn’t been for Jesus and Rocky, we probably wouldn’t have been able to get this.”  Illya tossed the coat in the direction of the hamper and stripped off his pants.

“Speaking of such, what are we going to do about him?”  Napoleon began his own disrobing.

“I don’t know.  That’s a question for tomorrow.”  Naked, Illya stepped in front of a fan and turned it on.  He tipped his head back and sighed happily.

“And tonight?”

The head swiveled in Napoleon’s direction.  “I’d rather concentrate upon what I’m going to do about you.”

“What do you mean?”  Napoleon carried his clothes to the hamper and put them inside, along with Illay’s.  “One day I am going to have to teach you how this thing works.”

“And one day, I am going to teach you not to hold out on me.”

“No idea what you mean.”

“Napoleon, Napoleon.”  Illya shook his head slowly and approached his partner.  “We have been together many years, both as lovers and partners.  You shouldn’t hide it from me.  You know I eventually get what I want.”  He guided Napoleon to the bed.

“Well, yes, I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”

“Well, you always did underestimate me.”  Illya pushed Napoleon back onto the pillows, smiling devilishly.

“Never!  And I don’t think it’s a losing proposition.  I mean, there is a risk, but it’s a small one and I can easily absorb it.  And if we don’t like it, we can always sell it.”

“What?”  Illya sat back on his heels.  “What are you talking  
about?”

“Ah, what are you talking about?”

“You resisting me downstairs, but I have a feeling it’s time to talk.”  He watched Napoleon draw a long breath.  Then he sat up, uncorked the wine bottle and poured two glasses.  Illya took the one offered to him and leaned back.  “I’m waiting…”

                                                                                ****

Napoleon slid out of bed quietly and headed for the shower.  It had not quite been the evening he’d envisioned.  To say Illya wasn’t pleased with his decision was a gross understatement and then Napoleon misspoke.  He’d used the words ‘my money’ and Illya had shut down.  It sort of amazed Napoleon that Illya was still in bed with him.  He half expected to find Illya had left for the sofa or guestroom.

He showered, shaved, and dressed in record time.  Stepping into the bedroom, he was relieved that Illya was still apparently down for the count.

He headed downstairs, turning his attention from the desk to making coffee.  The cats eagerly joined him and did figure eights around his ankles.

“You think I’m going to feed you, do you?”  He’d never talked to animals before, but these cats were more than just pets.  They were almost human.

Moutard answered him with a rusty meow and Napoleon smiled despite the funk that had descended upon him.

Quickly, he filled two plates with cat food and exchanged them for the empty plates on the floor.  He put the dishes into the sink to soak and went back to the pantry to find some cereal.  He’d just settled on Raisin Bran when he heard a noise.

Turning, he saw Illya at the sink, staring down at the dishes.  Napoleon knew Illya hated dirty dishes in the sink.

“I’m going to wash them when I do mine,” Napoleon said.  He got a bowl and the milk and carried everything to the table.

Silently, Illya went to the coffee pot and pour himself a mug.  He carried it to the back porch and let the door slam behind him.

“Thanks, I’d love some, too,” Napoleon muttered.  He’d seen Illya in some moods before, but this one was taking the cake.  He got some coffee and went to retrieve the paper.  Something caught his eye over on the porch of Taste and he stepped back inside.  Sighing, he went to the back porch.

“Illya, there’s something going on over at Taste.”  The remark had the desired effect.  Illya’s surly expression became alarmed.

“What is it?”

“Something on the porch.  Couldn’t tell from here.”

Illya was up and gone before Napoleon got the last word out.  He watched Illya run gingerly barefoot over the gravel parking lot and up the two stairs to the porch.  He grabbed the bundle and took the path back to the house.

“What is it?”

“I think the books found their way home.”  Illya carried the bundle to the desk and carefully removed the newspaper wrapping.  He opened them up, began to thumb through them and gasped.  “What on earth?”  Between each page was a hundred dollar bill.  “Napoleon?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“John or Marcus?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it matters at the moment.  To accuse either would make them lose face.  I suspect you will find your missing profits in there.  Problem solved.”

Illya’s voice became very tight and soft.  “Did you do this, Napoleon?”

“No, no matter what you might think of me at this point, Illya, I would not do this.  I would hand you a check from our brokerage firm.  I never deal in large amounts of cash.  You have no paper trail then.”  He took the bull by the horns.  “I know you are still angry with me about the artist and I know you are still smarting over my comment of what I do with my money is my business.  That was wrong of me and I had no right to say that.”

“Why?  It is your money.”

“Not accorded to the paperwork, it isn’t.  It’s ours.   You have as much right to it as I do.  We are partners Illya, in the truest sense of the word.  Everything I have is yours.  I give it to you freely and without strings attached.  It’s just… for a long time, it was just me and there are times when I forget that.”  Napoleon sat down on the couch.  “I just don’t want to lose you again for another stupid mistake on my part.”

Several moments passed with the only noise in the room being the ticking of the mantle clock.  It chimed the half hour as Illya sat down beside him.  “It wasn’t just you.  I’ve made some mistakes as well.”  He sighed heavily.  “I’m still working through the trust issues.  I’m still afraid every day I will wake up on this old couch and all this will have been a dream.  You will have never come back and I will still be alone, my penance for acting like an ass and leaving you to begin with.”  He sighed again.  “I’m just so afraid of losing all of this.  I can’t even think straight.  Illya Kuryakin – the world’s big joke.”

“I’d prefer Illya Kuryakin – my life partner.”  Napoleon took Illya’s hand and squeezed it.  “I’m not a dream, Illya, and I will never leave.”  He laughed softly.  “Besides, money is the one thing most married couples fight about.  I guess that makes us a married couple… at least in our eyes.”

Illya looked up at him with such love in his eyes that Napoleon had no other option than to thoroughly kiss him.

There was a soft tap on the door and both men looked over.  Rocky was standing there, looking a little embarrassed and more than a little contrite.

“Hi.”

“Good morning,” Napoleon said, releasing Illya.  “How are you feeling today?”

“Like an unemployed jerk.”

“Well, a jerk, at least.”   Illya stood and walked to him.  “As for being unemployed that is still up for discussion.  Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Ah…”

“He hurt himself, _Cara_.”  Matt’s voice preceded him.  “He was afraid you’d find out.”

“At work?”

“No, let us say play and leave it at that.”

“I strained my shoulder and the doc gave me a cortisone shot, then some pills to take.”  Rocky looked sheepishly around the room and quickly mumbled something.

“I’m sorry, what?”  Napoleon asked.

Matt picked up the conversation.  “He was supposed to take them one every twelve hours, but he was afraid you’d notice something was wrong and so he took three yesterday.”  He touched his temple.  “It made him a little crazy.  I noticed he was acting odd, but I thought he was blaming me for getting hurt.”

“That’s why he was acting so… different with you?”  Matt nodded and Napoleon looked over at Illya.  “Sounds familiar.  You two really are cut from the same cloth.”

“We’re partners for a reason.”  Illya walked to Rocky and tipped his head back.  “You are fine now?”

“Yes, but I can’t serve and we’re full tonight.”

“We will manage.  Take a couple of days off and rest that shoulder.  Working with it injured will do it more harm than good.  I’d rather lose you for a couple of days than forever.”

“I still have a job?” Rocky sounded amazed and a little choked up.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  Illya smiled kindly at him.  “I most certainly wouldn’t kick a man when he’s down.  What you did was out of concern for us and the restaurant.  Get some rest and see how you feel on Thursday.”  He hugged the man carefully, mindful of his injured shoulder.  “Ice and then heat.  Alternate it, but never longer than fifteen minutes.  Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

“Thanks, Chef.”  Rocky turned and Matt took his place in Illya’s embrace.  “Thank you, _Cara._ ”

“Nothing to thank me for.  I’ve done a few boneheaded things in my time.”  He looked over at Napoleon and smiled.  “The important thing is that we are a family and we take care of each other.”

Napoleon grinned back.

 

                                                                                ****

 

Illya was checked the tray of hors d’oeuvres just as Napoleon ducked into the backroom of Vinea.  “How’s it going out there?”

“Incredible.  We haven’t even unveiled the _maquette_ and Jake has already been approached by four potential buyers.  I have a feeling he’s going to have more work that he knows what to do with.”

“Have you seen it yet?”  Illya handed the tray to a waiter and watched him scurry away.  He reached for another tray and began to prep it.

“I have and I think you will be pleased.  And I think this is exactly what our businesses needed.  What recession?” 

The parking lot had been closed and tables and chairs had been scattered around.  The unveiling was by invitation only and once people found out the young artist was being funded by Napoleon and Illya, there weren’t enough invitations to go around.  It had moved from a small intimate affair to a full blown event.  Napoleon was pouring champagne, Illya was providing the hors d’oeuvres, and Jake was trying to deal with the attention as best he could.

“Well, offer the world free food and drink and they will beat your doors down.”

Rocky came in and gestured.  “It’s time, guys!  Jake is about to fall apart.”

Illya set the tray back into an insulated rack and closed the door.  “By all means, let us go see what our money bought us.”

“You mean besides a parking lot full of people who will most likely want reservations for tonight?” Napoleon asked as he led the way.

Jake was standing at the makeshift podium and waved the minute he saw them.  They stayed off to the side, determined to make Jake the focus of the spotlight.   “These are the two men who backed me and believed in me.  Napoleon, Illya, I hope you won’t be disappointed.”  He made a hopeful face and tugged off the cloth.

Two thin spirals twirled and wrapped their way heavenward.  One was stone, the other bronze, one naturally occurring, the other manmade.  One was white, one shimmering gold.  They stood just over six feet, yet seemed to stretch forever.  As a focal point between the buildings, they seemed to beckon people to them and people crowded around for a better look.

There was applause and Jake jumped, unaccustomed to the sound.

“Get used to it, my boy,” Napoleon murmured, as he clapped Jake on the back.  “I think you are going to be hearing a lot of it.”

Roxanne came up to the pair. “Chef, we have had several requests for reservations tonight.  I told them that we weren’t open and they are booking for the next few days.  We are booked solid for the next five days.”

Illya offered Napoleon a lopsided grin.  “Would you two excuse me?” He hurried off with the woman.  Halfway back to Vinea, Matt walked up to Illya and draped an arm over the Russian’s shoulder.  Just from the way he was walking, Napoleon could see a change, a bounce in Illya’s step that hadn’t been there before.

“How do I thank you two?” Jake wadded up the sheet and clutched it to his chest. 

Napoleon smiled after his partner, his love apparent in his eyes.  “Jake, I think you already have.


End file.
